Menocyclical Menolyrical - Final Friday rerun

This one came about as an early contender in the Mayor Doodz Fractured Friday Hairy Tails series...

Kali-Bindu sat silent. Meditative.  

Blinking at her, I offered pennies for thoughts. Still the silence settled between us. I lay down on the concrete.  Not exactly the most welcoming surface, but I could see that unless I showed some level of deference, this conversation was going to remain very one-sided. 

Kali-Bindu didn't even twitch her nose.  Her tail moved not one millimetre. Not the slightest shift in position. 

I slid forward very slowly, opening my mouth a little, panting with the effort.

"Stop right there!" Her voice was so suddenly there, I stopped out of surprise as much as compliance.
Letting out a whuffing sigh, Kali-Bindu started talking. "Puppies.  Every year they come, they drain, they muck up, they disappear. Some are good.  Some not so much. THIS lot now? Total tyrants the lot of them. All males.  All alpha. All greedy as the pigs in the next street. Then, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, five turn into six...." She stopped and looked pointedly at me.

Darn it, but my tail started up all on its own, the back end just wouldn't stop wriggling. I snuck a bit closer again. 

"I don't have the milk to give you pup, off with you!"

Unable to help myself, I scampered right up to her and turned somersaults all round her. I tried to kiss her cheek and nibble a teet. Her nose came round and nudged me sideways. 

"Steady on little girl, I'm a bit tender there... how come you're on your own anyway?"

"A man took me from mother...and...and...and... it was miles and miles and miles and milesssssssss from here...and...and...then I ran away cuz his little boy kept pulling my tail and hitting my head and...and...and....."

Kali-Bindu nosed me again.  "Come on then, over to the bushes.  I need to lie down and sleep. You drink all you need. If my boys turn up, you have to fight for your place. Okay?"

I leaped for joy. "Okayokayokayokayokay......"

(c) Yamini Ali MacLean  2014

Kali = black, Bindu = drop.

NB: Observers visiting yesterday may have noticed the mysterious disappearance of my blogroll listing on right sidebar. No idea how, but Blogger appears to have removed them completely from my template (as of late arvo 29th). Am posting this note just so all those who were on there know this was not my choice!!! If things do not right themselves within the week (as they sometimes do and may already have, making this message irrelevant) then I shall have to reset my blog. ...shrugs shoulders and mutters into chins....#$(@*$(*@%)#@%*@)*

Menocyclical Menolyrical - a week of reruns

Memories of Achiltibuie and North West Scotland - a narrative poem I scribbled when I had stayed there, November 1983...it was quite popular first time posted - what think you now? Go put the kettle on. It's lengthy.

A walker enters the West coast day,
a fine, crisp, autumn morning
whose dawn has been
as sharp and clear as the purest glass.
Vastly, the air is breathed - 
hitting the lungs with the tingling
of a myriad icy shards.

The wand'rer's dress is warm and waterproof;
flasked soup and vitals packed,
camera on shoulder slung.
Mountain and hill tops lie wrapped white,
granted lacy mantles
from a sky now wiped and freshened
by the previous stormy night.

The rambler briskly sets a line
over stagnant bogs, decaying land;
heather blacked with age:
weather having turned to mires the peat.
Brief, rocky tables thrust
free of root and clod, providing
welcome rest for dampened feet.

The intruder now is pelted softly
by rounded, frozen raindrops;
albino fairies jigging.
A nearby gushing stream, enthusiastically
nearing journey's end,
forces itself upon the
saline mother of its history.

At water's edge great slanting slabs,
scored and etched as parquetted floors,
unable to defend,
slide beneath the lips of surflet waves.
Lapping liquid taking
its cumbersome toll of the
basalt with which its rim is paved.

Watching this, the walker feels warmth
from the low-slung autumn sun;
gold and silver light enthralls.
As boulders display their rainbow skins
the camera is drawn,
wielded by the observer
and the framing of time begins.

Clambering onto some higher shelves,
sheer beauty brings a halt -
glistening rock, swirling sea.
A perch is found whilst soup is drunk.
The eyes take in trawlers

(c) Yamini Ali MacLean

sheltering from their labours,
safely at rest with anchors sunk.

From that far harbour the tiring sun glides
along the seas length, which
is lichen-covered stone,
becoming jade crystal at shore's meeting.
Graceful gulls leave little
trace of passing; the shags
whip the crests to froth with their fleeting.

Moving on, this lone soul treads
a strand, brightly gold against
the surrounding duns.
Sandpipers, redshanks and oysercatchers
mingle with the councilling
gulls, mutualy ignored and
blind to the crouching watcher,

who, wishing to attend, approaches;
but a plaintive wail goes up -
"Aaaaalien! Aaaaaalien!" setting
to flight their wings. Pouring down abuse
upon the encroacher
the airborne seek solace
on the gentle swell, there to muse.

So, spotted, the walker crosses
to the farther rocky bank,
passing by a carcass,
sure this was no natural demise;
for the slender throat was torn 
and the sockets now were
empty where once had sat the eyes.

The water tugs and pulls at it
but the sandy grains fight back,
desperate for possession.
The great grey-black frame of the gull
is no longer magnificent,
for death has wrecked the wings,
wantonly turned the feathers dull.

Territorial disagreement
must have been the killer, as
infringement of mating
rights; but his place will soon be filled,
the mourning and the
memory of his passing short-lived,
as is the habit of the wild.

Further along the land's edge the
walker sits again upon
a much-barnacled stone.
Making room beneath nature's wall,
the restless ocean eats
her way inland, stretching;
causing even granite cliffs to fall.

lulled into meditation, the
watcher becomes aware of 
being watched.  A sleek head,
dog-like but ear-less, guilelessly peers
at the thinker who,
scarcely daring to breath, is
moved by this presence to shed a tear.

Diving below the surface, the 
sea dweller rises again
some distance away.
"Grey seal, grey seal, show yourself once more!"
The entranced observer calls as it sinks twice, thrice.
"Grey seal, grey seal, visit me ashore!"

The caressing plea is unheard
for the whispered words are caught
up in the homeless breeze,
freezing them, carrying them away.
Knowing this, the walker
looks up, notes the dipping 
sun which precedes the close of day.

The eyes drop to the see-saw dancer
going on regardless of
the audience it draws.
Shoulders appear as the seal grows bold;
flipping onto its back
the fins are shown and the
thick, spotted coat which bans the cold.

Too soon the time for departure
presses; the sea turns to
pewter with the gloaming.
Beauty brings its own heartfelt pain,
for it too must be left 
behind, like those moments
of sadness and sorrow and rain.

Heaving the body back uphill
the walker's mind remains
encapsuled in that scene,
at one with all. Hearing a song,
the body turns to claim
the mind; sees the one seal
become two, now the intruder is gone.

© Yamini Ali MacLean

Menocyclical Menokakkul - a week of reruns

Do you need reminding that there are...

Ten (10) Things I know about you.

1) You are reading this.   

2) You are human.   

3) You can't say the letter ''P'' without separating your lips.   

4) You just attempted to do it.   

6) You are laughing at yourself.   

7) You have a smile on your face and you skipped No. 5.   

8) You just checked to see if there is a No. 5.   

9) You laugh at this because you are a fun loving person and everyone does it too.   

10) You are probably going to send this to see who else falls for it.   

..and if you didn't the first time you may want to do so now!